


Icestorm

by dewekbwankies (suicidalzombie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Gen, New York City, Possibly Pre-Slash, Pre-Slash, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1212010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suicidalzombie/pseuds/dewekbwankies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles decides to defer for a year and move to New York City. He wants to experience something new before he commits to the academic world once again. The drawback is that he is extremely ignorant of just how bad winters on the east coast can get. He finds himself 'lucky' that his neighbour -with the personality of an angry Chihuahua- manages to bail him out more than once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i want something else to get me through this

**Author's Note:**

  * For [collie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/gifts).



> This was supposed to be something to keep me busy while I was in hospital - but it turned into something more (see end notes). I'd like to thank by lovely betas, [@geckoholic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/) and [@eczilon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eczilon/) <3
> 
> CH 1 is oddly formatted - I apologise. I can't seem to fix it so for now, it stays. Feel free to suggest tags, as well as a rating. I slacked, I'M SORRY.

        When high school comes to an uneventful end and his circle of friends realise they will soon be scattered across the United States, Stiles decides on a whim to defer for a year. Even though he was accepted into all of the schools he applied for (and Scott tells him it’s on account of being awesome - okay, academically awesome) he just isn’t feeling it. Maybe it’s burn-out from working his ass off all senior year, but Stiles feels like he just needs a break. He wants to experience something new before he commits to the academic world once again.  
  
        He isn’t surprised when Lydia gives him a look of disapproval after he announces his decision to defer a year. It’s during a beginning of summer party they have, though the term ‘party’ is used loosely - it’s just himself, Lydia, Allison and Scott - not this major bash like Lydia had wanted. Stiles remembers all of the parties Lydia has thrown in the past and how huge they were. He really doesn’t want the entire senior class at what is supposed to be an intimate gathering.  
  
        When Scott and Allison take off to do their own thing for the night, it leaves Stiles at Lydia’s to help clean up. She again displays her disapproval and he again tells her why he’s deferring. It shows him just how much has changed in a few years - if this was junior year, Lydia’s disapproval would have bothered him but he has long since moved past his crush. It was purely by accident that he found out he is bisexual, and now, her disapproval just makes him joke that she’s mom-ing him. She cares about him only as a friend, just as Stiles does her and it’s a far cry from when she was pretending he didn’t exist in her world at all.  
 

Allison decides to defer a year as well, wanting to travel with her dad. She was always intrigued by the fact that her aunt Kate had been a weapons distributor, and when kids at her old high school joked that her dad’s job was a man’s job, it had made Allison more interested in it. Kate had shown her that weapons weren’t a man’s thing. By the time she was seventeen, Allison already knew how to assemble and disassemble a myriad of weapons, but it was a skill she kept quiet for awhile. When the death of her aunt Kate and then her mother’s suicide became too much, Allison stopped caring what other kids thought of her. She pursued her hobby on the weekends and eventually, after breaking up with Scott, she drew the attention of Isaac Lahey, who would go with her into the preserve and watch her practice with her crossbow.

 

       Without a relationship to distract him, Scott makes the decision to attend a local veterinary school on the weekdays and on weekends he continues to work for Dr Deaton. Stiles jokes that Scott would make a cute nurse but Scott reminds him of the failed ‘take your kid to work day’. Scott had gone to work with his mother one evening and accidentally saw what went on in the trauma OR and threw up in the hallway. It was then that he realised seeing someone getting their own innards stitched back into their body wasn’t for him. It wasn’t any easier seeing animals who had been hit by cars brought in, but he never threw up in Deaton’s office, so there was that.

 

Lydia and Jackson had broken things off shortly before sophomore year and while they remain friends, no one is surprised when Jackson takes on a modelling gig in London, England. He was willing to trade lacrosse for money it seemed, even though his family had more than enough, and sometimes he would send them all autographed head shots. Stiles keeps the ones he gets in a box labeled ‘NARCISSISM’. 

 

After Jackson leaves, Lydia is the next one of their group to leave. She had stayed home for half of the summer after graduation but since she refuses to live on campus and declines a sorority (it would interfere with her studies, she had reasoned and Stiles was surprised she was blatantly showing off her intellect now) she had to apartment hunt and it was difficult to do that from another state. So she left in July and found herself a place within a week.  


 

Allison and her dad pack up shortly after that, which leaves just Scott for Stiles to pester. The remainder of the summer is a lot of drinking beer in the preserve and accidentally-on-purpose running into Coach Finstock in town. They find out where he goes for dinner in the summer and join him on the restaurant’s patio, getting drunk and flicking straw wrappers and ice cubes at him until they are kicked out. Their former Coach complains that the two are more annoying than Greenberg and changes restaurants. Shortly after, Scott becomes busy with orientation and classes, which leaves Stiles to his own devices.  


#  
  
    

Stiles didn’t want to move to New York City at first. It had been a bit of a spur-of-the-moment decision. He had been helping his dad keep his case files organised when Agent McCall - Scott’s father - had come into town. He stirred up enough shit to leave everyone pissed off and as a joke, Stiles had said that he was pretty sure Agent McCall had been kicked out of wherever he had been working in New York. Stiles’ dad had pointed out that the FBI wasn’t stationed in NYC but run out of Washington and Stiles just shrugged it off.  
  
 

What it leads to is Stiles going home and looking up the police services and such in New York City. One link led to another and soon, Stiles was looking at photos of brownstones converted to apartments and dreaming of living in such a diverse city. He joked about moving there and by the time November came around, Stiles was serious about it. He took a weekend trip up to New York City and secured an apartment with what was supposed to be college money, but he wasn’t going to be able to move in until January. That was okay - it meant he would be moving in when it was cold, rather than when it was hot, so no sweating involved. What Stiles didn’t count on, was the weather.  
  
#  
  
        A series of text messages Stiles sends Scott the night after he secures his apartment, before he heads back to California:

 

> _You need to be here. NYC is made for anyone with ADHD. And a thing for knock-off handbags_  
>   
>  _I went to Trump Tower. It’s all gold and mirrors in the lobby and I was kicked off of the elevator for trying to collect a toll each time someone stepped on._  
>   
>  _I think I saw Jay Leno… rather, his chin. I was two blocks away though - can’t be sure._  
>   
>  _The subway smells like a body is decomposing. I sent a text to my dad asking if this is normal. He didn’t find it funny._  
>   
>  _Times Square feels like one giant orgy with everyone touching you._  
>   
>  _I think my neighbour is one of those ‘I hate everyone’ types. I’m fucked._  
>   
>  _I’m guessing he won’t like it when I play that ‘music to drive to’ playlist Jackson made me… his eyebrows were judging me in the elevator LIKE THEY KNEW._  
>   
>  _I bought you something to remember me by. Who’s the best friend there ever was? Me, that’s who!_

  
  
  
        Stiles doesn’t think much of it when he leaves his new apartment. He has just signed the one-year lease and is feeling pretty good about himself, looking down and reading the papers over again when he runs into his neighbour - rather, walks into him quite literally - at the elevators. It earns him a solid shoulder into his own. He’s sure it will leave a bruise in the morning and even though it’s his own fault, he is about to protest when he takes one look at the man’s face.  
  
        He goes from wanting to protest to closing his mouth. It’s a rare thing, indeed, but the guy looks like he’s either had a hell of a bad day or maybe he’s just one of those people cursed with a permanent bitch face. Stiles reaches around the guy and presses the lit-up elevator button again, as if somehow it might make the elevator get here faster.  
  
        When it does arrive, the entire elevator ride is uncomfortable. They reach for the ground floor button at the same time and when Stiles goes to step back, the guy is already taking up the back of the elevator and Stiles steps on his foot. It earns him another look and so Stiles presses himself into the corner between the elevator buttons and the side wall. It’s either the slowest elevator in history or time is purposely moving slowly so Stiles pulls out his cell phone and texts Scott. He’s tempted to try and take a sneaky photo of the guy but with his luck now, his flash or volume would accidentally be on and he’d get caught.  
  
        Instead, he tries to describe the guy to Scott and when the elevator door opens at the lobby, Stiles waits as the guy leaves first. He takes a left and Stiles glances up on the pillar that stands between two short sets of stairs that lead into the main lobby. A sign points the way the guy went and says ‘Underground Parking’. Now he’s glad he parked on the street.  
  
        When he leaves the building he is too busy reading Scott’s text message reply to look where he’s going and he jumps nearly a foot in the air as he hears a car horn honk. He looks to his right and realises he just walked in front of a black Camaro that was trying to leave the building’s underground parking - and through the windshield of the car is the guy, again. As Stiles continues on, he’s pretty sure the man’s expressive eyebrows are still judging him, even as he speeds past on the street and Stiles climbs into his Jeep.


	2. ice, ice, cold as ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter loses its appeal when a massive ice storm hits the city, and he realises just how unprepared for this type of climate he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I fixed my formatting. If there's random HTML, let me know where and I'll fix it asap.

        When Stiles first moves to New York, he’s surprised at the major differences in climate, like the temperatures that would sometimes dip into the minuses. When he arrives in January it’s for two reasons: his apartment isn't available until the first week of January and he thinks that it will be easier to move his things into his apartment when there isn’t sweltering summer heat to deal with. It isn’t such a bad idea and with the snowfall measurements for the winter at an all-time low, he isn’t trying to move his things into his apartment with ice and snow getting in the way. When he gets out of his Jeep there is just road salt that quickly stains his boots.  
  
        For the first few days he makes a habit of sleeping with the window open because the cool air feels nice at night and his apartment is always too hot and dry. It isn’t a problem other than the fact that the cat he adopts to keep himself company likes to scratch at the screen in the night. It’s annoying to listen to, but nothing deters him. Since he’s not really scratching open the screen, Stiles doesn’t close the window and eventually, the cat falls asleep in the window, soaking up the cool winter air.  
  
        The first time the temperatures really drop and his window freezes open overnight, Stiles panics. The landlord isn't awake and Stiles doesn't want to wake her up, so he has to knock on a neighbour’s door. It's too damn cold to just leave it until morning. Out of all of the neighbours on his floor, he knows that the neighbour across the hall is awake and usually still at home at this hour because he goes for early morning jogs. Stiles can hear his neighbour's door slam when he leaves and comes back every day. and it has become Stiles’ alarm clock. The first door slam when his neighbour leaves would wake Stiles up and after the guy’s hour long jog, he would come home and slam the door again as he went into his apartment. Stiles likes to think of the time his neighbour is out jogging as a snooze button, and finally gets his ass out of bed after the second door slam.  
  
        Stiles doesn't want to admit that he feels nervous as he knocks on his neighbour’s door, remembering their first meeting and the awkward elevator ride. Scott had laughed about it, but also told Stiles that he might want to make sure the guy isn't secretly a drug dealer or planning to beat him up in the stairwell and rob him one day.  
  
        Those thoughts don't help him much and Stiles stumbles over his words as he asks if there is any way he could help at all. The look his neighbour gives is one of pure death (oh, how dare he interrupt someone's morning!) and Stiles almost backs away with an apology before he hears his neighbour speak.  
  
        "I did the same thing last year," his neighbour admits, and he's leaning in his doorway and watching Stiles go from nervous to almost surprised. "Give me ten," he continues, and it is pure luck or something, Stiles swears.  
  
        Stiles can't help but think of the first time he actually saw his neighbour. He had thought the man was rather boorish, but he never considered that it was a personality thing.  He was used to poor attitudes when it came to Jackson and sometimes, Lydia's snobbery, but if there was ever a person that truly embodied the antisocial vibe, it was this guy. Even offering to help, he sounded like it was the last thing he wanted to do with his morning. 

 

Stiles wants to think that he just ran into his neighbour on two bad days - like today, maybe it is because the weather is too crappy for him to go for a jog. Perhaps he is pissed off that his routine is thrown off.  
  
  When Stiles' neighbour knocks a few minutes later, he opens the door and lets him in, bending down to pick up his cat before it has a the chance to dart out into the hallway.  
  
        "Do I want to know your method?" Stiles asks, looking at what his neighbour has brought with him as he closes the door. He has both a wooden board that seems to be pre-cut to fit the window, as well as a hair dryer that is plugged into an extension cord.  
  
        “The outlet is too far from the window,” he explains, then holds the wooden board up. "If the hairdryer doesn't melt the ice, I can block off the opening until it thaws on it's own."  
  
        That made sense, Stiles thought and he led the way to his bedroom, setting the cat on his bed and going over to unplug his iPad charger and lamp from the bedroom outlet.

  
  
     When the hair dryer does nothing to melt the ice, his neighbour wedges the board into the window opening and tells Stiles to try the hairdryer again in the afternoon, when it should be warmer. He leaves the hair dryer behind and pauses briefly to pet Stiles' cat before leaving.  
  
        Later that afternoon, when the hairdryer still doesn't work, Stiles gives up and goes downstairs to check the mail. He runs into his landlord and brings up his tale of woe. She laughs, tells him that it isn't the first time that's happened to someone in the building. When she leaves the mail room, Stiles tucks his mail under one arm and scans the row of mailboxes, finding his neighbour's apartment number and reading the name on the little black and white label: Derek Hale.  
  
  
  
  
        It takes a lot for New York City -the self-proclaimed city that never sleeps- to actually shut down. The last time Stiles can remember the city declaring a state of emergency was when a rainstorm came through that flooded the subway system and most of the town. Stiles vaguely remembers it but it was likely because of one of the last major hurricanes. He isn’t obsessed with the weather so he hadn’t paid much attention when he realised it wasn’t going to affect him. That was ignorant, but that was how Stiles always was with weather, which is why he hadn’t done a lot of research into climate before moving to New York City from Northern California.  
  
        The day New York City does shut down, Stiles starts to wish he was more prepared for a major winter storm.  Maybe he could have put on the news to see the red bar warnings on the bottom of every screen, or read the weather alerts that kept dinging through on his iPad the night before. Stiles tended to ignore the iPad alerts since they were usually things he didn’t care about - like people randomly mentioning him on Twitter since he had chosen the username @hwy (getting road closure reports and accident reports had turned him off of Twitter but he didn’t really want to change his username) or events he had set up with his best friend Scott as a joke. The latter would go off every day and he was becoming a pro at tuning out the sounds.  
  
        He had woken up to a chilly apartment and it was oddly silent. Usually he could hear the fridge running, his computer softly humming as its hard drives spun and just the general sound of electricity that one never noticed until it was gone. He didn’t have to get out of bed to see that it was darker than usual outside which meant the street lights were out.  
  
        Stiles picks his iPad up from where it was charging on his nightstand and checks his alerts (thank God for having a separate 3G connection for it instead of just WIFI) seeing that weather warnings had been sent out three days ago. He hasn’t done a lot of grocery shopping the past few days and remembers his nearly-empty fridge. 

Suddenly Stiles wishes that he hadn’t been so ignorant. Now he had a lot more to worry about than just getting food. If he had no hydro, then he really needed to start stocking up on some essentials: namely a flash light or two, maybe one of those LED lanterns that ran for 15 hours. Batteries and some non-perishable food items and things he could eat or drink that didn’t require hot water (cold coffee and cold tea sounded terrible), a stove or microwave. No hydro cut out 80% of the crap food Stiles ate, and he envisioned himself living on dry ramen, chips and cookies with flat soda to drink.  
  
        A flashlight or lantern thing became more of a top priority when Stiles finally gets out of bed, because trying to piss in the dark was pretty awful, especially when you were one of the few unlucky souls without a window in your bathroom. The floor is freezing and keeps making it crawl back up. When he finally finishes, he flushes and fumbles with washing his hands in the dark (and there goes the soap, sliding off of the soap dish because he missed when putting it down). He dries his hands and returns to his bedroom just in time to hear the skid of tires. 

His cat is sitting in the window, watching something intently so Stiles joins him, looking down at the street below. A car has become stuck in the icy mess that the storm had made of the street. Every time the tires spun, chunks of ice and a spray of snow flew out from behind but the car didn’t budge.  
  
        In the apartment building across from his Stiles sees shadows moving through curtains and seconds later those shadows were pressed against the windows. In the darkness, Stiles could barely make out his neighbours peering out their own windows, looking down to see what the hell woke them at 4am. The driver of the car keeps trying in vain before finally ceasing and the interior light comes on. Stiles can see into the car and watches as the driver pulls his cell out and makes a call. Likely to get help, but he’s not going to stand around watching the poor soul all morning. Even if it is his first winter storm, watching someone get stuck in the snow wasn’t that interesting.  
  
        When he returns to bed, his spot is already cold. He grabs another blanket from the linen closet and tries to get comfortable, tucking the blankets in around himself and under his feet to create a blanket cocoon. Eventually his cat abandons his post on the window ledge and weasels his way inside of Stiles’ warm cocoon of blankets. His fur is cold and he gives Stiles gooseflesh as he settles in against Stiles’ legs, purring contentedly.  
  
        As much as he wants to fall asleep, he can’t, but it’s too cold to get up and try and do anything in the dark so he lays there, staring at his iPad each time the screen lights up to another alert. He thinks about how it might be his only source of entertainment in the next few hours and reaches over to turn it off so the battery doesn’t die on him. He left his cell phone charging in the living room and hopefully it has a full battery as well.  
  
  
  
        The thing about underground parking is that it gives Stiles a false sense of security. He can start his Jeep no problem, even though the seats are freezing through his jeans and the engine stalls a few moments. He starts to think of the snow emergency kits he remembers his dad trying to get him to buy except in California you’re not going to find anything of the sort. He should’ve made his own but in his excitement of moving to New York City, he kind of forgot and now he’s starting to regret it just a little.  
  
        Winter tires help a bit but he still nearly loses traction on his way up from the parking garage, where the city’s snow plows and salt trucks haven’t reached. He figures the landlord would salt the ramp into the parking garage and just hasn’t gotten around to it. Nonetheless, he makes it up to the street and slowy turns right. The road is a bit slippery, with snow piled so high in the gutters that it spills onto the sidewalks and fully covers the parking meters.  
  
        The little kid inside of him wants to climb on the snow hills and make ramps to slide down but he doesn’t. He’s an adult now, and he isn’t about to try and pull over just to play in a snow hill.  
  
        When he turns onto one of the main streets, heading towards the closest grocery store, he notices that he’s the only person out other than a lone taxi and a snow plow some blocks ahead. The snow is coming down heavy now, reducing visibility drastically. Even with his windshield wipers on the highest setting he feels like he’s driving into some sort of fog of debris except not - it’s just snow. And a lot of it.  
  
        He finds himself hunched over the steering wheel and squinting through the windshield, slowing his driving so he doesn’t accidentally slip through a red light by not seeing it. When he hits the block just before the grocery store he notices that the store’s lights are off and as he drives by, there’s a sign in the window on neon orange bristol board: CLOSED DUE TO SNOWSTORM.  
  
        The black Sharpie lettering feels like a giant ‘duh’ and for awhile Stiles drives around the blocks near his apartment, hoping to find a corner store, a gas station or something that’s still open. There’s nothing, but then he thinks of how there’s a whole other part of the city just over the bridge and there’s no sign saying it’s closed. Logic doesn’t prevail; Stiles convinces himself that there might be something open across town and so he makes the trek.  
  
        He’s the only car on the bridge and that should’ve been the biggest warning yet. Even as anxiety pools in his stomach, he doesn’t stop or turn around. By the time he sees the flashing orange lights on the traffic signs and the letters  C L O S E D  flash in front of him he feels like the biggest idiot there is. The city might not have closed the other side of the bridge yet but now he was stuck and turning around didn’t seem like an option: the other lane was completely covered in snow.  
  
        So Stiles does the only other thing he can think of doing: he starts slowly back up into the snow with the intent of gaining enough space between him and the guard rail of the plowed lane to pull himself out. He needs traction and he doesn't have room to do this without slamming into the guard rail. 

 

It seems like a perfectly viable plan until he turns the steering wheel a bit, starting to get himself lodged into the un-plowed lane and panics. He gears without thinking and digs himself nicely into the un-plowed lane, with snow up to the top of his Jeep's tires. Moments later his Jeep is making those funny sounds as the wheels spin and can’t seem to gain any traction at all. 

 

Damn it, he thinks, putting the Jeep in neutral and getting out. 

  
        His decision to wear sneakers over the boots he specifically bought for winter weather is another bad decision as he lands knee deep in snow, his ankles stinging as snow gets under his jeans and over his ankle socks, freezing his skin. There’s no one else around and even the flashing  C L O S E D  sign is unmanned. He figures the city workers were smart enough not to get stuck watching a bridge all day so they went home or wherever the hell they went during a day like this. He’s on his own, but he can do this - he’s convinced of that much, at least. He’s been stuck in a lot worse, like the time he had the whole rear of his Jeep stuck in a muddy spot at the Beacon Hills preserve and had to get himself out of it without calling AAA or his dad.  
  
        He might’ve come home covered in mud and had to have the entire driver’s side of the car professionally cleaned after but he had gotten himself out of that mess and snow had to be easier than mud. It was just water. Frozen water, but water nonetheless.  
  
  
  
        Twenty minutes later and Stiles is realising yet another flaw in his plans for the day. He has tried pushing the Jeep out of the snow while in neutral, then he spent a few minutes digging around in back of the Jeep for his ice scraper, using that to try and dig his wheels out. He never thought to buy a shovel, either, and when he is too cold and his hands are red and numb, he gives up and climbs back into his Jeep where it’s at least dry.  
  
        He runs the heat on high to warm himself while he tries to kick the snow off of his shoes. It melts onto the floor mat and he’s tempted to take his sneakers off entirely to get rid of his wet socks except then he would have to put his feet back into wet sneakers and no thanks.  
  
        The only other option he has now is to call someone and so he dials the first number he can think of - AAA and he hopes the number is the same for the one in California, where the dispatcher picks up your location via GPS and forwards you to a local branch. Rather than the friendly operator voice, he gets a pre-recorded message telling him that all lines are busy and the call ends with a three second busy signal before disconnecting.  
  
        It leaves Stiles with little option - he knows his landlord doesn’t drive; she’s a proud New Yorker who gets by with just the subway and a taxi if the need arises. She also likes to walk everywhere, which Stiles isn’t opposed to but he doubts she can get out here to help him now. The only other neighbour he knows of that has a car and is probably home right now is the guy from across the hall - who already bailed him out by helping him with his frozen window.  
  
        His thawing fingers tap the lock screen as he weighs his options before he swipes his thumb to unlock and accesses his contacts list. In the ‘recent calls’ list is Derek’s name and he taps the entry before he can chicken out. Maybe, just maybe, his stomach is churning nervously as the line rings.  
  
        Derek doesn’t pick up until the fifth ring and Stiles was almost afraid that he would either have to leave the annoying hang-up on the voice mail or try actually leaving Derek a voice mail. There’s a pause and then Derek’s voice comes on the line, sounding suspicious. Stiles doesn’t blame him - his cell phone is still under his California number and no doubt rang in as a long distance call.  
  
        “It’s Stiles,” he says, after Derek’s suspicious ‘hello?’. “From across the hall. You know, with the frozen---“  
  
        “Frozen window,” Derek cuts in.  
  
        Stiles feels more like an idiot than he did a few minutes ago. “Yeah,” he murmurs, sinking lower in his seat. They’re quiet for a few moments and he can almost picture Derek doing those eyebrows he does that Stiles interprets as a silent ‘well?’. He doesn’t think of how weird it is that he’s picturing little scenarios in his head of how Derek might or might not be responding to him.  
  
        “I’m stuck,” Stiles says finally, tapping the fingers of his other hand on the steering wheel and then flexing them, trying to work the circulation back into them. The thawing was going slowly and his car heater either was messed up or it was really getting cold outside.  
  
        “Stuck,” Derek repeats, and again Stiles can picture those damn eyebrows.  
  
        “Yeah like… stuck in the snow stuck.”  
  
        There’s a pause, and it feels judgemental to Stiles. Or maybe he’s just sensitive because he’s had a hefty dose of stupid mistakes today. “Why would you go out?” Derek’s tone is very much judgemental and very much you’re so fucking stupid. It makes Stiles glare through his snow-covered windshield.  
  
        “I needed things and I wasn’t exactly prepared for Snowocalypse here,” Stiles snaps and immediately he regrets it. Derek could lose patience and hang up right now and Stiles would really be screwed. He doubted waiting around for AAA would be a good idea and if city workers weren’t going onto this bridge to block it off at the other end, he probably shouldn’t have taken the chance.  
  
        “And you called me because…?” There’s a hint of amusement that Stiles can hear in Derek’s voice. Stiles wasn’t even aware he was capable of frowning as hard as he is now. There’s going to be a permanent crease in his forehead as a result of Derek Hale.  
  
        “I’m calling you because I’m stuck and I don’t know anyone else who has a car,” Stiles tells him and he’s praying that Derek isn’t a total dick and actually helps him. If he does, Stiles swears that he will actually be more prepared the next time they have a Snowocalypse. He’ll even set up weather warning alerts and make sure he’s well stocked on non-perishables, flashlights and all of the things he should have but didn’t.  
  
        There’s a sigh from the other end of the line and it makes Stiles feel both increasingly annoyed but also very, very small.  
  
        “I drive a Camaro, not a tow truck,” Derek tells him, but there’s shuffling in the background and the squeak of a door opening - the front hall closet door, if Stiles is guessing right. His own makes the same damn sound every time. “Where are you?”  
  
        The question catches Stiles off-guard and he balks. “What?”  
  
        Derek speaks slowly this time, as if he were speaking to a child. “Where… are… you?”  
  
        “A bridge,” Stiles says, completely unhelpful. He does wipe at the fog on his windshield and tries to look for a sign. “Uhh, the one leading from Manhattan into the other place.”  
  
        “The other place,” Derek echoes and now Stiles can picture him doing the facepalm internet meme thing. Except less of a stick figure and more of a muscular… _yeah, not going there._ “The Brooklyn Bridge?” Derek suggests and it sounds familiar at least, but that’s probably because it’s a major part of New York City, not because Stiles was being brilliant and looking at signs. He was too busy watching the road and trying to squint through snow.  
  
        “Hold on,” Stiles says, putting the phone on speaker so he can still hear Derek as he goes back to his home screen, looking for his Google Maps application and running it. Immediately it zeroes in on his location and he copies the data and sends it to Derek’s cellphone via text message.  
  
        There’s a funny sound on Derek’s line - his ringtone, Stiles figures - and he hears shuffling while Derek is trying to figure how to open his messages app without dropping the phone call. A few seconds later there’s another sigh to rival the first. “I’ll be there in ten, maybe fifteen if the roads are shit.”  
  
        “Okay…” Stiles murmurs, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “Thank you.”  
  
        Derek’s line goes quiet for a while and Stiles almost thinks Derek hung up but then he speaks. “Are you at least dressed warm?”  
  
        Stiles resists the urge to make a joke about Derek mom-ing him. “I uh… no? Maybe? Kind of?”  
  
        “Stay in your car and keep the heat on. I’ll call when I’m close if I can’t find you,” Derek says, and Stiles can hear keys jingling and Derek’s apartment door slamming shut.  
  
        “I’m the only car on the bridge so trust me, you’ll find me. Just drive all the way to the end.”  
  
  
  
  
        It’s nearly forty minutes later when Stiles sees a pair of headlights cutting through the snow-fog-nightmare that’s happening outside of his Jeep windshield. Derek stops his car a few feet away from Stiles’ Jeep and when he gets out, he isn’t wearing his usual leather jacket but a thick dark grey parka with a hood and a dark-coloured scarf wrapped up to his chin. He can’t see Derek’s feet in all the snow but he’s pretty sure Derek was smart enough to wear proper boots.  
  
        Stiles puts his phone on the dash before getting out of the car, pulling his jacket - what he thought was considered a winter jacket, up until today - tightly around himself. It’s zipped up to his neck but it doesn’t do much in the way of keeping him warm and it seems Derek figured out that much as the first thing he brings to Stiles is a second jacket, much like the one he’s wearing himself, and a pair of gloves. Stiles pulls the jacket on immediately, zipping it to his chin and even pulling the hood up, even though he probably looks stupid and like a frozen eskimo. The gloves are too big but he wears them nonetheless, and they’re warm from the heat of Derek’s car.  
  
        “Thanks,” Stiles says again as Derek makes his way back to the Camaro and digs around in the trunk. He closes it and comes back with his own pair of gloves on and carrying two shovels, handing one off to Stiles before making his way towards the back of the Jeep.  
  
        “Start digging out the front wheels,” he says, ignoring Stiles’ thank you, and starts to dig out the back wheels. “Work fast, because the storm’s just gonna get worse.”  
  
        No shit, Stiles thinks as he starts to dig, quickly working up enough of a sweat that his body isn’t freezing anymore. He’s just uncomfortably damp and his toes feel pruny from his wet socks and wet sneakers. When he thinks he’s dug out the front tires enough he wedges the shovel into the snow and gets into the Jeep. Derek does the same with his shovel and moves around back, hitting the back of the Jeep with his palm to signal for Stiles to do his thing.  
  
        It’s not his first rodeo and so Stiles does what he did the time he got himself stuck in the mud - he goes slow with the accelerator, keeping the Jeep in neutral and steers himself into the little tire paths he made. There’s a few moments where the tires skid and he’s pretty sure dirty snow is being splashed up at Derek so he stops for a moment and waits for Derek to signal again.  
  
        The second time the Jeep actually moves free from it’s snow prison and he’s not entirely ready for how slippery it is. There’s a loud crunching sound and the Jeep gets stuck a second time - this time in the front hood of Derek’s Camaro.  
  
        Stiles can’t hear anything outside of his Jeep but he’s pretty sure that there’s one pissed off Derek Hale outside and he watches through the fogged windows as Derek comes around the side of his Jeep to survey the damage. After a few moments, Stiles braves the wrath of his neighbour and climbs out and joins him. He had hoped it would just be a dent, a little dent or maybe even the front fender pulled off but nope. Never in Stiles Stilinski’s life did he ever have the good kind of luck.  
  
        His Jeep was beyond car-fucking the front of Derek’s Camaro - it was full-on crushing the engine with smoke coming out of both their car’s front hoods.  
  
        “So---“ Stiles starts to say but Derek cuts him off with a look that rivals the one he was given on their first meeting months ago.  
  
        “Don’t say it,” Derek warns. “Don’t apologise.” It sounds like it’s taking every ounce of willpower not to turn around and punch him or something and Stiles hopes that the heaving of Derek’s chest is because he’s exhausted from digging out the Jeep, not because he’s pissed the fuck off.  
  
        Stiles doesn’t finish his apology and instead reaches into his Jeep for his cellphone. He tries CAA again only to get a busy signal and when he tries to dial directory assistance it’s like the Gods decided to smite him for all of his stupid mistakes. He gets another pre-recorded message - this one telling him that his call cannot be completed as dialled.  
  
        “The fucking lines are down,” Stiles swears and Derek looks over at him.  
  
        “What?”  
  
        “The phone lines are down,” Stiles explains, holding out his phone to show the ‘call failed’ screen. “Or the storm knocked out the cell towers.”  
  
        Seconds later, when it fades to the screen of his most recently dialled calls screen, Derek takes the phone and thumbs through. “I’m the only other person you called?” he asks, a little bit surprised.  
  
        “Who else am I going to call? Everyone I know is back home in Beacon Hills,” Stiles says and he takes his cellphone back, locking the screen before slipping it into  
  
        Stiles' question earned him a shrug and he watched Derek retrieve the two shovels, stashing them back in the trunk after wiping the snow off. They could technically walk back to the apartment but it would take an hour or so and with the storm worsening…  
  
        Outside of the Jeep, Stiles can feel Derek watching him and he glances out the semi-fogged window before facing the dashboard again. He had returned to his Jeep is trying to get the thing started so that he could try and get out of holes they dug to free him.

 

Something to makes the engine produce a really bad noise, frustrating Stiles to no end and he slams his hands on the steering wheel. He doesn't know then that Derek isn't annoyed at him so much as he feels bad for him. Stiles had come to New York so unprepared and now it's causing him so much trouble he probably wouldn't want to renew his lease. Not if he had to endure winters like this.

 

It’s just their luck that the Jeep no longer wants to start and as if to piss on the two of them even more, the power to the Jeep cuts suddenly, leaving Stiles without headlights or an overhead interior light.  
  
        Stiles gets out of his Jeep just as Derek is getting into the Camaro, likely to get out of the snow, but Stiles looks frustrated and it stops him.“What do we do now?” he asks, as if Derek has all of the answers. For this situation? He doesn't. If they can't get help then they have to tough it out.

Derek tells him to 'get in' and nods at the passenger door of the Camaro. Stiles doesn't think twice about it - he trudges through the snow and gets into the passenger side of Derek’s Camaro, shivering as Derek gets in himself. Stiles cranks the heat and when he is still shivering a few minutes later Derek seems to notice that the kid’s clothes are probably wet.  
  
        “Take your wet clothes off,” Derek tells him, and for a few moments Stiles just stares at him. When Derek doesn't get more than a funny look from Stiles, he sighs and leans into the back of the car, reaching for a bag that he kept with him at all times. Stiles peeks and sees clothing and some other essentials, mostly toiletries. Stiles doesn't ask why Derek has any of this with him and undresses quietly, sitting shivering in the car.

  
        When Derek finally sits back in the driver’s seat, he’s holding out a pair of dark grey sweatpants and black socks. He offers them to Stiles in return for his clothing, which he lays out in the back seat so they don’t wrinkle as they dry. Stiles’ wallet falls out of his jeans and when he leans down to pick it up it has fallen open, revealing his driver’s license.  
  
        Stiles doesn't notice that his wallet had fallen out of his jeans, or that Derek is reading all of his personal information: his birthdate and his name - April 8, 1996 / Stiles Stilinski. 

 

There's a shift in the air - tension - and Derek seems to stiffen as he closest the wallet and tosses it into the dashboard for Stiles, who is still getting dressed.

 

He doesn't know that Derek is having a bit of an internal conflict - he remembers Beacon Hills and remembers enough to feel cold all over. It isn’t because of the weather outside - the Camaro’s heat as high as it will go to help warm them. 

 

Stiles looks over eventually, giving Derek a questioning look. Derek doesn't seem to notice as realisation dawns on him that this kid isn’t just his annoying neighbour he has bailed out twice now, but Stiles Stilinski. The son of the Beacon Hills police department’s Sheriff.  
  
        Finally Stiles breaks the silence. He has the clothing and socks on, as well as the borrowed Jacket and his thin one, but no shoes. They're soaked through so Stiles sits cross-legged on the seat, keeping his feet warm under his thighs.

 

“So what are we going to do, just sit in the car all night and hope the battery doesn’t die?” Stiles asks, his voice pulling Derek from his thoughts.  
  
        “Yeah, until the evening at least," Derek begins, then looks at the dashboard clock. "Maybe until  morning," he corrects himself. It's late enough that he doubts anyone is coming for them now. "The snow plows should come by in the AM and if they’re going to close the bridge, they might see us,” Derek says as he unzips his jacket. He doesn’t need something to retain body heat like Stiles does so he offers his own coat as another cover and Stiles takes it, wrapping Derek’s coat around his legs like a blanket.


	3. the sky was bruised, the wine was bled and there you led me on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles attempt to make it through the night.

        They pass the time quietly at first, with Stiles playing several rounds of a game called Quiz Up. Eventually he gets Derek to download the app to his cellphone and they play several rounds before Stiles’ phone dies. Derek looks at the time on the dashboard clock and realises that they have been sitting here in the cold for close to four hours now. No one has come down the bridge and from what he can see, a  C L O S E D  sign hasn’t been set up on the other entrance.  
  
        Derek sets his phone aside as well to conserve it’s battery, just in case and a few minutes later the Camaro’s battery decides to up and die on them, leaving them in semi-darkness. The only light they have is from the bridge’s street lights and after a few minutes Stiles begins to shiver again.  
  
        There’s something else Derek picks up as well - Stiles’ elevated heart rate, which doesn’t make sense as one’s heart rate lowers when they’re cold. It only raises when the person is either sick with a fever and suffering chills or they’re panicking. It makes Derek frown and he can’t just outright ask Stiles what is wrong without having to explain how he knew something is wrong. Stiles is quiet, not saying much.  
  
        “What is it?” Derek finally asks, looking over at him. He can feel the chill of the night air seeping into the car but he doesn’t ask for his coat back. He has a sweater in his bag he can put on if he really needs it but his body would do okay for a few more hours, possibly even until morning as long as he wasn’t standing outside in the snow.  
  
        “This is probably the worst time to think about all of the bad things that can happen to us,” Stiles says, his voice hitched in a panicky way. “But I can’t help it. Like what if someone doesn’t find us in time and when they do we’re just frozen corpses in a really expensive car? Maybe we should just get out and walk. Frostbite is easier to deal with than hypothermia---“  
  
        Derek sighs softly. “We’re not going to die.”  
  
        It doesn’t matter though - Stiles is already in the midst of a freakout and he’s becoming so amped up that Derek twists in his seat and reaches over to grip Stiles by the forearms, squeezing gently. “We are not going to die,” he says firmly and whether it is the surprise of the touch or the tone of Derek’s voice, Stiles stops flailing about.  
  
        “Look,” Derek continues. “Do you trust me?”  
  
        Stiles stares at Derek for a few moments before nodding. He doesn’t think of how Derek made him think of that scene in Aladdin. “Yeah.. yeah I do.”  
  
        “Then believe me when I say we are not going to die.” Before Stiles can make another protest, Derek lets him go and is moving Stiles’ wet clothes to rest them over his bag of clothes before climbing into the back seat. “Come here,” he says, as he stretches out along the back seat. “And take off my jackets.”  
  
        It’s weird but Stiles listens without protesting. Once he’s manoeuvred himself into the back seat and has taken off Derek’s jackets he looks at Derek for a few moments before it hits him what Derek was hinting at.  
  
        “Conserving body warmth together,” Stiles murmurs, tentatively stretching out alongside Derek and once they’re pressed together, Derek tucks them in with both of the jackets so their body heat can’t escape and works one arm under Stiles so he can wrap his arms around the kid and hold him close.  
  
        It’s uncomfortable for both and Derek feels it in the air, but the moment his body heat starts to warm Stiles, he can feel the kid’s heartbeat lowering to a more normal rate. They don’t speak - what is there to say? and soon enough, Stiles drifts off to sleep. Derek feels safe letting him because he can feel Stiles’ body warming up and knows he isn’t at risk of becoming hypothermic.  
  
        For the rest of the night, while snow piles up around and on top of the Camaro, eventually obscuring the view out the window, Derek listens to Stiles’ heart rate and his breathing, gently stroking his back through his thin jacket every time he feels the kid’s heart rate spike. Must be nightmares, Derek thinks, holding him closer.  
  
  
  
        It isn’t until someone is knocking hard on the window of the Camaro that Derek realises he has fallen asleep and for a moment he panics, unsure of what’s going on but knowing Stiles is against him and very, very still.  
  
        There is knocking on the window a second time and that is when Stiles is stirring. Derek calms a little and they start to sit up so that Derek can open the back door. There are city workers and a large plow and a salt truck parked just a few feet away.  
  
        “Are you two okay?” the guy asks and Derek is about to say ‘yes’ when he hears sirens from an approaching ambulance.  
  
        “We’re fine,” Derek starts to say, but Stiles looks pale and his heart rate is slow, his movements sluggish. “I’m fine,” he corrects, and pulls the coats up and around Stiles as he holds him close, trying to use what little body warmth he has left to keep the kid warm.  
  
        They’re left in the Camaro until two ambulances show up and the city workers move the salt truck and the plow up ahead to make room. Everything seems to happen in slow motion - Stiles is removed from the Camaro first and lifted onto the gurney so that his bare feet don’t touch the snow. He’s being wrapped in thermal blankets before they strap him in, rushing him to the back of the first ambulance.  
  
        Derek is climbing out of the back seat himself when two more paramedics are at his side and insist that he comes with them to be checked out as well. Derek figures that there isn’t anything they’re going to be able to do at the hospital but at the same time it wouldn’t hurt. He’s lost enough of his body temperature that he can’t warm himself properly and he’s starting to feel sluggish himself.  
  
        As the first ambulance carefully pulls away, Derek notices that the entire bridge is now plowed and salted, when it wasn’t before. The only snow build up is around Stiles’ Jeep and his own Camaro. As he gets onto the gurney, letting the one paramedic wrap him in blankets, he remembers Stiles’ wallet.  
  
        “The kid you just took - his ID is in the car, on the dashboard,” Derek says, and the paramedic that was trying to get the vitals for Derek finishes hooking him up to get a heart reading as well as a blood pressure reading before retrieving Stiles’ wallet. Derek’s own is in his back pocket of his jeans and he figures he’ll hand that over to the paramedics when they’re in back of the ambulance and out of the snow and the cold.  
  
  
  
        Derek can’t remember the last time he was at the hospital, if ever. He knows that he doesn’t have a GP so it was probably just to see a doctor to get vaccinated so he could get into grade school, so when he’s wheeled in ahead of Stiles, it feels weird. He feels like he’s wasting resources because he isn’t technically sick and already his temperature is returning to normal, as well as his vitals. The paramedic who rode in back with him, filling out the paperwork, kept remarking that Derek is either extremely lucky or something; that he probably will be let go after the doctor sees him. Derek doesn’t really care - he already plans to discharge himself after the nurses do their vitals and try and settle him in.  
  
        He wants to make sure that the Jeep and Camaro are taken care of, and that he can find Stiles in the hospital and make sure that he is alright. It doesn’t hit Derek at first that he went from being annoyed at his neighbour to caring about his wellbeing in less than a few hours. He’s too busy thinking of how to trick the nurses so they don’t think something is weird when he doesn’t show any symptoms that he had a mere twenty minutes ago.  
  
  
  
        When he’s given a bed in the curtained-off room, Derek lets the nurse do her thing - she insists on running an IV bag of fluids which Derek allows. His body will take the fluids in rather quickly, which means he will be out of here sooner. He tries to listen for Stiles’ heartbeat and can’t find it. The emergency room is large and split into two - a general emergency department and then the section for more serious cases: usually those requiring isolation as a result of a severe infection or virus, or something worse.  
  
        He knows better than to try and ask the nurse for information on Stiles. She isn’t allowed to give out patient information to anyone but family and even then, only if they’re listed as next of kin on his health file. Rather than let himself worry about Stiles - he’s in the best care if he’s in the hospital, after all - Derek lays back in his hospital bed and waits, watching the liquid drip from the bag that is hanging on a pole above his bed to the IV that leads into his arm.


	4. this doesn’t need to be the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being released from the hospital, Stiles and his cat take up shelter in Derek's temporary abode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter - might make a sequel since I feel this ended abruptly. We'll see.

        Stiles begins to drift off in the ambulance. He is almost fully asleep when he feels a sharp sting in the sensitive nerves of his inner elbow and opens his eyes to look down at his arm. The paramedic that is riding in back with him is inserting an IV catheter, clipping the end for a few moments while he prepares a bag of IV fluids.  
  
        “We called ahead to the hospital when the city workers found you,” the paramedic explains. “They said to immediately start fluids on anyone we found.”  
  
        Stiles nods. It’s to try and stabilise his vitals incase they’re hypothermic. “I thought we were going to die,” Stiles admits, watching as his IV line is uncapped and hooked up to the bag of IV fluids. The paramedic tapes it down a second time before picking up his clipboard to return to his paperwork. He glances up at the vitals machine every now and then, when Stiles would shift and upset the electrodes on his chest. The beeping from the monitor that was measuring his heartbeat was relaxing in an odd way, and he almost started to fall asleep again.  
  
        After a few moments of silence the paramedic looks up from his paperwork. “You two are lucky that you didn’t,” is all he says. Those words give Stiles chills as he thinks about the homeless he sees every day, the ones who truly have no place to go and might not have made  
it to a shelter. They spend the rest of the ride in silence.  
  
  
  
        At the hospital there are nurses waiting for Stiles with a private room open. He bypasses the emergency department and wonders if Derek is there yet. He isn’t aware of the fact that Derek is being wheeled in right in front him. They’re separated when Stiles is taken towards his room. The nurses seem concerned enough about his well being to work fast - he’s unstrapped from the gurney, his IV bag moved to a pole attached to the hospital bed and then he’s lifted by the paramedics onto the bed. They leave with the stretcher and the door closes, leaving him with just the nurses.  
  
        “What happened last night?” asks one of the nurses as she starts to undress Stiles. His clothing is still damp and a bit crunchy, probably frozen. It’s a bit awkward but he’s too cold to care right now so he just lets them do what they need to do. When they need to take his jacket and tee-shirt off, one of the nurses takes his IV bag down and passes it through the sleeve of his thin jacket and then the sleeve of his teeshirt before undressing him. They leave him in his underwear before coming back with a hospital gown that they dress him in.  
  
        “I was trying to go get some things before the storm got worse and my Jeep got stuck in some snow,” Stiles tells them, and his mouth feels funny. He sounds drunk. He tries again, focusing on not slurring his words. “I tried to dig it out but it wasn’t working. A neighbour helped and I kind of hit his car when I got out.”  
  
        The nurse who was putting a thermal blanket on Stiles smirked a little. “You ‘kind of hit his car’ when you got out.. of what, the snow?”  
  
        Stiles’ mouth still feels weird and he still feels slightly drunk but he keeps trying to talk anyway. It’s a good distraction from the fact that as his body is thawing out, he’s really starting to feel crummy. “Yeah, I guess I accelerated and slammed right into his Camaro. I uh… really killed the engine.”  
  
        “A Camaro…” the other nurse says, whistling softly. “I hope your neighbour really likes you - if I was driving a Camaro and someone hit me…”  
  
        “You would start screaming at him, throwing a diva fit,” the first nurse teases, hooking Stiles’ thermal blanket up and then giving him two regular hospital blankets on top of it. When she’s done, she looks down at Stiles.  
  
        “I’m Trudy, and I’ll be your nurse for the rest of the morning and until this evening. Lisa here is working the front desk so if you press this button - “ and Trudy lifted the little red button attached to a white cord, setting it down within Stiles’ reach. “It will ring at the desk and put you through to Lisa. If you need anything, I’ll come in.”  
  
        Stiles nods, starting to feel drowsy again.  
  
        “I’m going to come back in a few minutes to hook you back up for an ECG and then keep you hooked up for vitals. After that I’m going to draw some blood and every twenty minutes I’ll be in to check your temperature,” Trudy continued, fixing Stiles’ blankets. “Your clothes and ID will be put in a plastic bag for you, in case you’re looking for them.”  
  
        “Okay,” Stiles murmurs, shifting around under the thermal blanket before finding a comfortable position that doesn’t pull on the IV in his arm. By the time the nurses leave he is already fast asleep.  
  
  
  
        Each time that Stiles’ nurse comes in to check vitals or his temperature, he briefly wakes up but almost immediately falls back to sleep. At one point, before leaving his hospital room, she dims the lights, which helps Stiles stay asleep through the rest of his checks.  
  
        When he finally wakes up it is sometime in the evening. He smells food and he feels gnawing hunger pangs in his stomach. He doesn’t remember when he last ate except that it was sometime two days ago; probably dinner before he went to bed. He doesn’t remember having eaten breakfast before going out to get supplies, but he also finds his memory of the last day and a half rather foggy, so who knows. Nonetheless, he is surprised that he has gone this long without eating and only _now_ was feeling hungry.  
  
        As if on cue, a tray is brought it and set down on the adjustable table that is wheeled over to Stiles’ bed. The server takes the lid off of his meal and opens the plastic container of cutlery for him before leaving. Stiles sits up a bit and starts to eat in the dim lighting of his room. He’s feeling a lot better though his toes have a funny chilly feeling and he feels nasally, like he’s about to get a cold.  
  
        The hospital food is bad as it is in California: spongey ‘breaded chicken’ and mashed potatoes that look like they came out of a TV dinner. There’s flavourless green beans in some kind of zesty dressing and for ‘dessert’ he has a tapioca pudding cup. They gave him orange pekoe tea and a black coffee to drink, with some little sugar and creamer packages. He eats the food because he’s hungry and drinks a bit of the coffee, leaving it black, before laying back down. He just wants to sleep and for awhile he does, rousing when the tray is taken away and again when it’s shift change and his night nurse comes in to check vitals and introduce herself.  
  
        The rest of the night isn’t very eventful. Eventually the night doctor has Stiles’ thermal blanket removed and he’s given a thick hospital blanket that has been warmed and the lights are turned off entirely. He doesn’t mind and sleep comes easy just like it has all day. He briefly thinks about his cat and makes a mental note to try and get in touch with Derek to make sure that the poor thing is fed and okay.  
  
  
  
  
        In the morning Stiles wakes up to the feeling of someone watching him and he finds Derek sitting in the chair beside his bed, a magazine in his lap. He doesn’t seem too focused on it though.  
  
        “You got out early,” Stiles tells him and Derek looks over at Stiles before closing the magazine and setting it aside.  
  
        “They discharged me in the evening,” he admits. “You were asleep when I came by.”  
  
        Stiles nods a bit. “Why did you come back? You didn’t have to.”  
  
        Derek shrugs one shoulder. “I figured you needed clothes for when they discharge you and I wanted to let you know I fed your cat.” Upon realising that it sounds like he broke into Stiles’ apartment he quickly clarifies, “You left your keys in my jacket so I let myself in. Sorry.”  
  
        “Did you go through my underwear drawer for clean boxers?” Stiles asks, smirking.  
  
         “No," Derek says slowly, lifting an eyebrow. "I expect you to go home commando.”  
  
        “That might be cold,” Stiles tells him as he stretches out in the hospital bed, thankful that his body seems to have finally returned to a normal temperature. He feels too hot under all of the blankets but the hospital gown was only tied up at the very top and he can feel it bunched up at his waist under the blankets.  
  
        “Speaking of cold, the landlord said they don’t expect power back to the building for another week. The Red Cross was offering to help people who had nowhere else to go but I didn’t know when you would be discharged from the hospital..”  
  
        Stiles nods. “So I’m shit outta luck if they discharge me before the power is back on.”  
  
        Derek leans back in his chair, watching Stiles. “Not really. I packed myself some stuff and booked a hotel room after I got home from the hospital. I dropped my stuff off and checked in today.”  
  
        Stiles wasn’t following. “Okay?”  
  
        “I paid for a two bed hotel room,” Derek tell him. “Your doctor already came in. He thought I was your dad and so he told me that you’re being discharged around noon today.”  
  
        “You paid - wait, you paid for a hotel room for us?” Stiles asks, as if he cannot believe what Derek had just said - and he couldn’t. “Up until yesterday we were kind of strangers, isn’t this weird to you?”  
  
        “You spent a night in the back seat with me,” Derek tells him. “I think we went past the point of boundaries and strange.”  
  
Derek is right: it isn't like Stiles has anywhere else to go. “What about my cat? I can’t just leave him behind.”

 

“That’s why I found a hotel that lets you bring animals. I said you would be coming by sometime with your cat," Derek tells him and Stiles can't help the melty feeling he feels inside. Here was his neighbour, whom he had been convinced hated him, going above and beyond _three times now_. Four if you counted him feeding the cat and bringing him clothes.

 

"I'd be careful," Stiles warns. "Keep acting like my personal Superman and a guy might get the wrong idea."

 

It was apparently the wrong thing to say because Derek looks a bit flustered, and like he was having an internal _oh shit I said something wrong_ moment.

 

Before Stiles can try and deflect the sudden awkwardness between them, the door to his hospital room opens and in came his doctor, along with what Stiles guessed was an intern, unlucky enough to be pulled in during a snowstorm. The doctor was looking at his clipboard and making a face. Stiles could guess why.

 

"Just call me Stiles," he tells the doctor. "Don't even try and pronounce it."  
  
# # #

 

 

Stiles doesn't bring much to the motel - he brings his iPad for some games, his laptop so they could have something to watch (though he isn't sure that Derek is even into half the shows on his Netflix queue), some clothing and toiletries. He adds in a few more cat things, toys mostly, as well as food and his food and water dishes. He must’ve looked stupid the way he was packed up and leaving the apartment.

 

It is eerily quiet on the walk to the elevator bank. Stiles guessed that almost everyone in the building has long since moved onto staying somewhere else, and the lack of cars in the underground parking proved just that.

 

As they load Stiles’ things into the rental, he sets his cat’s carrier on the floor of the back seat and climbs into the front passenger seat himself. He’s lucky that his cat sleeps away all of the car rides it has ever been in. Some cats, he’s heard, suffer motion sickness and he isn’t sure if Derek would maim him for his cat puking in the rental. So far, nothing has been said about the state of the Jeep and Camaro. He would probably find all of that out in the coming days as more businesses were able to open.

 

The drive to where they are staying is as quiet as the walk to the elevators and finally Stiles looks over at Derek. “Okay.. _what_?”

 

Derek looks over then, lifting an eyebrow, but Stiles isn’t about to have a conversation with Derek Hale’s eyebrows.

 

“Why the silence? Are you pissed about the Camaro? I’m sure my insurance will cover it.” Stiles isn’t actually sure of that but he doesn’t want to say it right now.

 

“Are you stalking me?” Derek finally asks, focused on the road rather than looking over at Stiles. The roads are bad, he needs to focus.

 

Stiles laughs. He doesn’t have control over it, it just happens.

 

“Why the hell would I stalk you?” He doesn’t mean it to come out as offensively as it does but Derek still bristles and Stiles waves his hands. “Not that you’re not stalk-worthy, you’re definitely the kind of guy I’d go out of my way to bump into except on the days that you’re trying to be scary---

 

“Stiles--“ Derek cuts in, and immediately Stiles slows down. “Did you know I used to live in Beacon Hills?” he asks, once Stiles seems to have settled enough that Derek can get a word in edgewise.

 

The surprise on Stiles’ face is enough to show Derek that no, Stiles does not know who he is. “You did?”

 

Derek nodded once, focusing ahead again. “I lived there with my family up until a couple of years ago.”

 

“Two people living in the same place for the second time is coincidence,” Stiles tells him. “At least with this. I didn’t even know your name until I saw it on the mailboxes.”

 

“Your dad is the sheriff, right?” Derek asks, turning on the signal so they could turn and waiting for the car in front of them. 

 

Stiles nods, and now _he_ feels a little bit stalked. “Yeah, how did you know?”

 

“Your ID in your wallet says your name. I recognised the surname.”

 

For a few moments Stiles grows quiet, looking out the window as Derek makes his turn and they speed up a bit, now on more cleared out roads. Where they’re staying is likely ahead, according to the GPS in Derek’s rental.

 

“We’re you in trouble with the law?” Stiles finally asks, once they had parked and were retrieving his things.

 

Derek snorts softly. “No, I wasn’t in trouble with the law. My family died,” he tells Stiles, closing the trunk to the car with more force than is necessary. “Your dad was one of the first officers to arrive.”

 

 

They don’t say much after that - Stiles settles into his side of the room and spends some time with his cat, whom he hasn’t seen in awhile. When it’s time for dinner, Derek goes to get take-out and Stiles settles into the second bed with his cat sprawled across his chest, laptop in his lap. He connects to the public wifi and immediately does a Google search for _Hale family death, Beacon Hills California_ and begins to read all of the articles that pop up in his search results…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I need to look into fixing Pages for OS X since I hate writing in Word for Mac, and this is clearly the WORST FORMATTED FIC I'VE EVER POSTED. I'm sorry. One day I'll fix it, but this has been two months in the making and yeah. I'm just ready to post it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is two ideas put together, one was from @[collie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/pseuds/collie) and the other was something I started while being iced in, literally, to my apartment with no heat, hydro or internet for nearly a week [in December 2013 (link to Wiki article)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2013_North_American_ice_storm#Ontario). The username I gave Stiles for Twitter is one I use for an RP, so yes, it does exist :p
> 
> Still debating on a sequel.
> 
> Also, feel free to follow me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/lycanthrosexual) or [Tumblr](http://nixyrumancek.tumblr.com)!


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